Haven't Met You Yet
by zelda49
Summary: NateOC, Post 1.11 "Breach" When Hetty forced Nate on leave for a week, he never thought he'd enjoy himself enough to schedule down time on his own. Then one of his little forays into relaxation proved to be rewarding both professionally and romantically.
1. Prologue

A/N: Post-Episode 1.11 "Breach" when Hetty forced Nate to take a week off. I had forgotten all about his thing with the medical examiner when I started working on this, so you can read the other chapters as later on down the road or as AU...or however you like :-)

Enjoy!

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I tried so very hard not to lose it  
I came up with a million excuses  
I thought, I thought of every possibility

—Michael Bublé, _Haven't Met You Yet_

* * *

Vacation was supposed to be relaxing, fun even. It was time off of work where you could indulge in hobbies and activities you normally didn't have time for, sleep late in the mornings, and catch up on your television watching.

For Nate, vacation was none of those things. It was, instead, a time where he was devoid of his life's work, bereft of meaningful ways to spend his time. He saw his week of forced leave spread out before him like a long stretch of country road, empty as far as the eye could see. He was miserable at the mere prospect of gazing down that road, anxious about what he was going to do, how he'd be able to look himself in the mirror each day after accomplishing nothing.

But he was more afraid of Hetty than he was of seven vacant days.

So he gamely tried to pass the time cleaning out closets, flipping through TV channels, even grocery shopping. He paid bills, rearranged his living room furniture—then moved it all back again—and called his mom. Finding a stack of back issues of _American Journal of Forensic Psychology_ on the third day saved his sanity; at least then he could put his mind to good use, perhaps learn something new. He told himself it wasn't work, that even if Hetty found out he was reading professional journals on his off time she wouldn't be upset—at least they weren't comic books…ahem, _graphic novels_. And it was _his_ vacation time, he could spend it any way he wanted to.

To ease his conscience, though, Nate took a couple of the issues to a park and set himself up on a bench in the shade. Halfway through the first article he noticed his backside becoming sore from the hard aluminum slats and tried shifting positions, curling a leg underneath himself. Ten minutes later his foot went numb and he shifted again. A gentle breeze rustled the trees around him, crawling over his bare arms and raising goosebumps across his chilled skin. He shivered, raking his hands over his arms and rolling down his sleeves as he shifted positions again, trying to get comfortable. His eyes found the article again and resumed reading, only to be interrupted by the growling of his stomach and the realization that he hadn't brought any snacks with him on his jaunt.

Frustrated, Nate grabbed his journals and stalked back to his car.

The next day his conscience, sounding much like Hetty, poked him in the ribs and insisted that he didn't try hard enough to enjoy himself at the park, practically shoving him out the door to try again. He gave in, choosing a different locale this time, picking a spot on one of the multitude of beaches in the area and toting a messenger bag full of goodies: munchies, drinks, a sweatshirt, a seat cushion, and a pair of sunglasses. Scanning the area, he picked a spot that looked conducive to both reading and people watching, and tried to make himself comfortable.

The bright California sun shone down on Nate's shoulders making the light breeze feel refreshing instead of arctic. And the seat cushion had been a wise choice. Flipping through a volume of the _AJFP,_ he hunted down the article he'd begun reading at the park and, his body more at ease this time, allowed his mind to sink into the science. When he got hungry he rummaged around in his bag for something to eat, when the sun became too bright he produced the sunglasses. When he got bored or frustrated with the journal, he let his eyes wander over the beachgoers and dog-walkers and tourists, studying them in a more casual way than he ever could his colleagues. By the time he realized the sun was sinking toward the horizon he had been sitting there at the beach for several uninterrupted hours, the tension and stress of his job and compulsory vacation faded, the fun he used to find in psychology returned to his life. As he re-packed his messenger bag to go, he decided that maybe Hetty had been right in mandating his time off.

And he vowed never to tell her.


	2. Half Timing, Half Luck

A/N: We've moved to an unspecified time after "Breach", and into Nate's POV. He's decided that he occasionally needs some time to himself and has take to people-watching at any of the various beaches in the area.

I don't normally write in the first person, and actually started this one in the third person, but it worked so much better in Nate's own voice. I know, too, that he's a strong guy, both physically and mentally, but I figured in the presence of a girl he liked he'd turn into a mushy science-nerd...which some girls find that apealing :-)

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I might have to wait, I'll never give up  
I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck

—Michael Bublé, _Haven't Met You Yet_

* * *

It was a real-live case of love at first sight.

At least on my part. I always denied it afterwards—even to myself—more out of a sense of self-preservation than anything else. My past had been lonely enough that I couldn't quite let myself believe I really had found my metaphorical other half.

But when I stumbled across her that first time she was stretched out on a blanket at the edge of the beach, leaning against the trunk of a palm tree. A thick hardcover book lay open in her lap, the ups and downs of the story playing out on her expressive face. I almost hated to disturb her, but I was intrigued by her concentration in the midst of the frolicking families around us, drawn in by her animated features.

Plus she had a bottle of sunscreen peeking out of her bag that my blistering skin desperately needed.

Taking a resolute breath I made my way across the sand, halting a pace off the hem of her blanket. "Excuse me…"

She held up a finger, rapidly scanning the book before meeting my gaze. "Sorry, this is a really good part. I had to finish the paragraph."

Her eyes were a stunning green, contrasting sharply to her glossy dark hair and rendering me momentarily speechless. "Um…uh…yeah, of course," I stammered when I found my voice. "Good parts should not be interrupted."

She flashed me a brilliant smile. "Exactly. Now what can I do for you?"

My heart fluttered, but I thought I managed to keep my cool outwardly. "I need some help with this," I told her, holding out my sunburned arms. "I finally got out of the office, and forgot the sunscreen."

"Ouch." Dropping her bookmark into place, she laid her novel aside and reached for my arms with a familiarity that surprised me. "I think you're too late for sunscreen," she admonished. "What about the rest of you?" She signaled and I dropped to one knee on her blanket, sank further down onto my heels when she rose and hooked a finger in the neck of neck my t-shirt. "You look positively chicken-fried."

"That bad?"

Peering down the back of my shirt, she nodded grimly. "Yeah." Her fingers brushed the nape of my neck and I sucked in an involuntarily breath, my heart pounding. She read it as a reaction to pain and drew back, retreated to her beach bag on the other side of the blanket. "Sorry. I should have been more careful."

"It's okay," I tried to assure her, watching her dig through the bag. "It didn't hurt."

She quirked an eyebrow at me, then seized on the bottle she wanted and handed it over. "Okay. But you should still put some of this on."

"Aloe." Taking the bottle, I tried to quash the hope that flashed through me when I noticed her hand was trembling. Could she be as affected by me as I was by her?

"It'll do for now. When you get home, you'll want to put vinegar on any place you're burned. That will really take the sting out."

I nodded, squirting some of the lotion into my hand and running it over my arms. "I've heard that before but I've never tried it."

She smiled cheekily. "With your complexion, I'd have thought you'd've done the vinegar thing many times."

The smile I gave her in return had a rueful quality in it. "Hard to get sunburned when you're inside a building all day." I studied her face and throat, the freckles that stood out on her shoulders, and shifted to slather aloe on my legs. Beautiful wasn't the right word to describe her, but _fascinating_ certainly fit. "You're pretty familiar with the vinegar remedy, though, aren't you?"

"The family curse," she explained. "Stay out of the sun, and we're pale as vampires. Get in the sun and risk being—"

"—'chicken-fried'?" I finished for her. She laughed, and I understood the literary comparison of a woman's laughter to little bells. Hers was musical. And I was smitten.

"Yeah."

We fell quiet for a few moments while she watched me struggle with the aloe, and I tried desperately to think of something funny to say so I could hear her laugh again. My mind, of course, went blank and all I could do was focus on my sunburn. I managed to get the lotion spread over my arms and legs without much trouble, but my back and shoulders were proving to be more difficult. I wondered if she would offer her assistance, ask to put her hands on me, and I felt my face becoming warm as I imagined her touch. I hoped she would just chalk up any redness to the sun, but felt disappointed and frustrated and began to take it out on the aloe.

"Need some help?"

She sounded reluctant—I saw in her posture, her expression that she was rethinking her previous nonchalance toward me. Maybe she just wanted to get back to her book, or maybe she was tiring of a tedious stranger, or maybe she even thought I was weird. But when I nodded pitifully she acquiesced, taking the bottle and circling around behind me, sizing up her task.

"Is it too early in this relationship to ask you to take your clothes off?"

I smiled, recognizing her attempt to diffuse her discomfiture. "You probably should tell me your name, first."

"Zoë," she replied, kneeling at my back. "Zoë Vaughn-Kesler."

My breath stopped at the hyphenated name. "Married?"

"Divorced," she answered, gingerly examining my skin a second time. "You?"

"I'm single," I breathed, relieved. Her fingers connected with my neck, carefully spreading the aloe I'd already tried to apply, and I fought to keep from closing my eyes. "And I'm Nate Getz."

I heard a faint smile in her reply, felt her body relax a bit as she slid a hand gently down my back. "Nice to meet you."

"Which one is your married name?" I asked, thinking that if my mind was busy I could keep myself from sinking too far into her touch, "Vaughn or Kesler?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

I shrugged, winced with the pain of it. "Women who hyphenate their names when they get married usually put their maiden name first, but some women put their married name first. All of them have reasons for whichever order they choose, and I just wondered where you fell on the spectrum."

Zoë paused, leaving one palm against my back as she leaned over my shoulder to make eye contact. "What is it you do for a living?"

"I'm a psychologist," I admitted distractedly, catching the scent of her lilac shampoo.

"Ohhh." Her smile returned and she refocused on my sunburn. "Psychologist with a capital g-e-e-k."

"And what do you do?" I countered too quickly.

She parried matter-of-factly. "Dog trainer."

I glanced over my shoulder at her. "As in 'fetch' and 'roll over'?"

She shook her head, a loose lock of her dark hair tickling my cheek, sending my heart off at a gallop again. "More like 'seek' and 'release'. I work at a kennel that trains dogs for law enforcement and search & rescue purposes."

She slid my shirt up to get at the rest of my back and I barely suppressed a sigh. "And your married name?"

"Inquisitive, aren't you?"

I could hear the smirk in her voice but couldn't tell if she was amused or annoyed. "Occupational hazard," I apologized.

"Then I will indulge you. My married name was Moretti."

She hit a sensitive spot near my shoulder blade and I straightened up abruptly. "Moretti?" I croaked, trying to continue the conversation. "Where did Vaughn and Kesler come from?"

"My parents," she explained. "They weren't married when I was born, so they gave me both their names. I used to get asked if I was married all the time because of the hyphen, but I'd been Zoë Vaughn-Kesler for so much of my life that when I got divorced, I went back to it."

"Your parents are married now, though." I anticipated her next question and answered it before she asked, showing off my deductive skills. "You said they weren't married when you were born. That implies that they got married later, or you would have said they _aren't_ married."

She nodded her agreement, the loose lock of hair brushing feather-light against my lower back. I squirmed on the blanket and I could hear the smirk in her voice again, and this time her amusement was clear. "They did, before my brothers were born. It was still a big scandal on my dad's side of the family that they lived together, had a child together before saying 'I do'."

My professional curiosity merged with my personal interest and I couldn't help but probe that statement further. "Did your family's disapproval of your parents extend to you when you were growing up?"

She removed her hands from my back, and I suppose she could have been checking to see if she'd missed any spots with the aloe, but the action fit too closely with my question. I immediately backpedaled. "Sorry—that was too personal. I didn't mean to pry…"

"Yes you did," she replied evenly, tracing a fingertip across my skin before pulling my shirt back down. Scooting around to face me, she seemed to study my expression before continuing. "You didn't mean to _offend_ me. But you absolutely meant to pry. Occupational hazard, right?"

I watched her while she spoke, tried to read her face and body language, looking for any sign that I had upset her. When my eyes met hers, though, every thought left my head and I could only nod dumbly.

That apparently was entertaining for her, because her green eyes flashed as she tried to stifle a grin. "No, my family never treated me differently because of my parents. They might be on the conservative side sometimes, but they do not believe in visiting the sins of the father upon the son…or daughter." She squirted some more of the aloe into her palm and handed me the bottle to hold. "Besides, when my pregnant cousin left her fiancé the family forgot all about my ignoble birth."

My eyes must have widened because she chuckled, leaning forward to apply the aloe to my cheeks and forehead. "What about you? Any personal anecdotes you'd like to share with me?"

"I…uh…" Damn. The lilac shampoo scent surrounded me and, coupled with the feel of her fingers on my skin, scrambled my thoughts completely. "I play the banjo," I blurted out, color creeping up my neck at the admission.

Her smile took on a teasing quality. "Well, that's a start. What about this job of yours? It's obviously important to you, takes up most of your time."

I managed something about NCIS, giving her a basic outline of my duties at OSP without divulging any classified information. She was attentive and asked intelligent questions, listened carefully to my responses…which, of course, made me want her even more.

Once the aloe had been applied to the last of my sunburn, we briefly discussed my situation and decided that I should stay there in the shade with her until the lotion had a chance to soak in. Then we could cover me in sunscreen and I'd be all set. I was delighted to be staying and, seeking comfort in the familiar, prattled on and on about interrogations and profiling. She remained engaged, sitting further away from me on the blanket than I would have liked, but closer than if she had felt threatened by or disconnected from me.

Soon enough, though, she was fishing a second bottle from her beach bag. This time she didn't bother handing it to me, but went right for my skin herself. Kneeling at my back, she lifted my shirt and made quick work of coating me in sunblock from head to toe.

"All set," she told me cheerfully, rising to her feet and wiping the excess lotion on her own arms.

"Great." My lack of enthusiasm must have showed on my face as well as in my voice because she cast an amused glance my way. "I mean _great_," I tried again, with a little more feeling.

She tried to smother a grin but didn't quite succeed, and my heart fluttered. "Zoë…"

Her watch beeped, cutting me off and diverting her attention the device. I saw regret replace focus on her face a moment later, though, and hope rose again in my soul. Was she upset about leaving me?

"I gotta go," she said slowly.

"Hot date?" I responded before I could think better of it.

Fortunately, she didn't notice my idiocy. "Got dogs that need walking."

"At the kennel you work at," I added knowingly.

"Yeah," she nodded, "and my own. They've been inside most of the day." I started to ask her about her pets, trying to prolong the conversation, but she stopped me. "Sorry Nate, I really do need to get home." Shoving her novel into her bag and throwing her blanket over her shoulder, she dazzled me with a bright smile. "Good luck with your sunburn…and don't forget the vinegar."

"Wait!" I called after her as she stalked away. "Can I at least call you sometime?"

She flashed me another brilliant smile and rattled off her phone number, which I immediately committed to permanent memory, then to my cell phone's memory.

I prayed it was her real number.


	3. Out of Nowhere

_Wherever you are, whenever it's right  
You'll come out of nowhere and into my life_

—Michael Bublé, _Haven't Met You Yet_

* * *

Weeks went by and I heard not a word from Zoë. I tried calling her a few times, then let some time pass before trying again, attempting not to seem too desperate. I left messages on her voicemail, sent a text message or two, but got no response.

And each time, the constriction in my chest pulled just a little tighter.

I tried to put her out of my mind, and at work I was able to do so. Off duty it was a tougher ask, so I took to distracting myself with trips to the beach and my stack of _Journal of American Psychology _issues_._ I went to a different beach than the one where I'd met Zoë, of course, but I don't think the location mattered much. I missed her no matter where I was.

On one of my outings I had myself ensconced in relative comfort on a bench, sunblock smeared over every inch of exposed skin. The journal I had been reading had slipped down into my lap and my eyes wandered aimlessly over the populace, daydreams running through my head instead of academic observations. I was in the middle of a particularly affectionate scene when I heard a female voice float down on the ocean breeze.

"Hey! Catch that dog! Nina! Come here, girl…come on sweetheart…"

People were getting out of the way, watching something careen down the beach followed by the yelling woman. I sat up straighter on the bench to get a better look and made out a canine-shaped bullet speeding across the sand.

Zoë was trailing behind.

Without thinking I jumped to my feet, plotting a trajectory that would place me in front of the dog with enough time to either grab its collar or herd it in a more appropriate direction. I saw the expressions on people's faces as I moved toward the runaway animal—they thought I was as crazy as Zoë—but I ignored them and kept going. The dog looked panicked, ears flatted back on its head, tail between its legs as it skittered down the beach, but Zoë looked more panicked. My only thought was to help her.

Zoë saw me—or rather, saw a man in position to chorale her fugitive pet—and slowed to a trot. "Nina! Nina, honey, it's okay…"

When Zoë slowed, the dog slowed, eyeing me as if I were some sort of evil-doing bad guy and wondering how best to avoid me. I called her name a couple of times, trying to keep my voice steady and calm, trying at the very least to distract the poor creature long enough for Zoë to nab her.

The plan worked. Nina was half-frozen in fear of such a tall stranger looming before her and didn't notice Zoë creeping up behind her. The next thing the animal knew, her collar had been snagged and a leash clipped securely to it.

"Thank you," Zoë panted, still not seeing me for who I was.

"Any time," I replied evenly. The elation at having her there in front of me was mixing with resentment. Why hadn't she returned my calls? If she didn't want to see me again, was it too much to ask to say so?

My voice must have pulled her focus away from the dog, because she looked me in the eye as if seeing me for the first time. "Nate?"

"Hi Zoë. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered quickly, still breathing hard. "Nothing's hurt but my self-esteem."

Neither one of us knew what else to say, so I turned the conversation to the dog, thinking that would break the tension. "And who is this lovely lady here?"

"This is Nina," Zoë answered with a smile, kneeling down and scratching Nina's ear. "She was a breeding dog for a fighting operation, and didn't have much human contact until she came to me."

I took a good look at the pooch for the first time, and understood why people had run away rather than toward her. She was a thick, tawny Pit Bull. "Oh," was all I could manage.

Zoë must have recognized the look in my eyes, because she launched into a speech that sounded well rehearsed. "She's not dangerous. In fact, she's a pretty shy dog—and you would be too if the only people you ever saw forced you from your dirty cage to strap you into a rack to wait for a male dog, then came and took your puppies away after they were born."

I made a face involuntarily. "Is that why she ran away?"

"No," Zoë shook her head, chagrined. "She's gotten better with me. But I clipped her leash to the little ring that held her tag to her collar, not to the actual collar itself, and something scared her while we were out walking. The ring broke, she took off, and, rather than help, people ignored me when they saw Nina was a Pit." Rising to her feet, Zoë gave me an appraising look before continuing. "But you helped."

Struck dumb in her company once again, I could only shrug.

"Thanks," she said again, as though words had failed her, too.

We stood in awkward silence for a few long minutes while both Zoë and Nina recovered from their sprint. When I could stand it no more, I said the only thing that came to mind: "I tried to call you."

"You did?"

Her surprise seemed genuine and caught me off guard. "Yeah," I returned. "I thought we had…a connection…"

"Me too." Her lips pulled into a small smile, and I wondered where we had gone wrong. This was the same woman I'd been besotted with on the beach that day, not the one that had supposedly ignored me. "I kept waiting to hear from you, and I didn't have your number…"

"You didn't get any of my messages?"

She shook her head. "I figured you changed your mind and didn't want to see me."

"But I did…I tried…" Fishing my cell phone from my pocket, I pulled up her entry and read out the number. "Three-one-oh-five-five-five-oh-one-six-six."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head again. "I'm three-one-oh-five-five-five-_one-oh_-six-six."

"I transposed the numbers." I was horrified by the realization.

"Or I did," she countered.

"You were so flustered by my presence," I joked, "that you messed up your own phone number?"

Her eyes twinkled up at me, and my heart nearly stopped. "It's been known to happen."

My chest puffed out with pride. I _did_ have an effect on her! "Then I'm glad Nina got spooked today."

"I'm glad you were here to help me catch her."

There was another pause in the conversation, but this time it was less awkward, and I ended it by gesturing to the bench I had occupied earlier. "Why don't we sit down and talk?"

"The shrink specialty," she giggled. "'Lie down on the couch and tell me about your childhood'."

I chuckled in return. "I could have said 'sit', 'stay'!"

She laughed aloud, and I thought of bells as I had during our first meeting. Feeling light-headed and tingly, I reached out and clasped her free hand in mine, leading her over to the bench with Nina close behind. Once she and Zoë and I were situated, I released Zoë's hand just long enough to manipulate the screen of my phone. "Now let me make sure I have it right, this time."

Zoë repeated the digits of her phone number and confirmed the spelling of her name, then took out her own phone and smiled. "Your turn."

My excitement rendered me stupid yet again. "You want my number?"

"Yes," she said decisively. "I was pleasantly surprised to meet you the first time, and lucky to run into you a second time." Her smile softened, and she squeezed my hand. "I don't want to tempt fate."

I agreed, grinning gleefully.


	4. United

A/N: Another unspecified fast-forward, meant as a little epilogue to Nate's tale. And, of course, some additional cuteness :P

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They say all's fair  
In love and war  
But I won't need to fight it  
We'll get it right and we'll be united

—Michael Bublé, _Haven't Met You Yet_

* * *

I waited for Zoë at the same stretch of beach where we had reconnected, my long legs stretched out before me on the bench. I didn't even make a pretense of reading the journal I had brought—between the anticipation of seeing Zoë and the fatigue from work I couldn't concentrate on the words. So I sat and watched the people of Los Angeles County go about their business.

Pretty soon I heard toenails clicking on pavement and focused my attention, grinning like a lovesick schoolboy when Zoë and Nina appeared. I stood, noting a similar grin on Zoë's face, and took her hand in mine.

"Hi." I raised her fingers to my lips and kissed them chivalrously.

"Hi," she giggled. "Sorry we're late. I couldn't get Nina into the car…then I couldn't get her out of it."

I traced my thumb over the back of her hand, squeezing affectionately. "She's not having a good day, huh?"

We both looked down to where the dog should have been and discovered that she had jumped up onto the bench and curled up, looking for safety in an unfamiliar place. But even curled, she took up half the seating.

Zoë sighed. "Well, she looks comfortable, but we three will not fit on this bench together."

"Oh yes we will."

I plopped down beside the dog and snaked an arm around Zoë's waist, pulling her onto my lap. Seized with a sudden burst of boldness, I cupped her cheek and kissed her tenderly, longingly, thrilling from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes when she kissed me back.

"See? We can all fit," I told her confidently.

She kissed me softly, then laid her head against my shoulder. Reaching out to stroke Nina's head, she smiled contentedly. "Yes we can."


End file.
